


Object of My Affection

by flyinggirl139



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Lost Love, My First Fanfic, My First Smut, One of My Favorites
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-15 06:08:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3436340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyinggirl139/pseuds/flyinggirl139
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma had spent an inordinate amount of time trying to forget about Dean Winchester, the green-eyed hunter who had entered her life a year ago, changed her entire worldview overnight with his stories of ghosts, demons and monsters, and then just as quickly left again, leaving her wondering if he had just been a very attractive dream. But when she got the phone call out of the blue, she knew it had in fact been very real - and that forgetting would not be as easy as she'd thought ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. cellphone

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, thanks for reading! Note that Sam and Dean are obviously not mine, but Emma, Lauren, Dani and everyone else are characters of my own creation. The setting is my college town, which is in Northeast Ohio.
> 
> PS: If you're into country music, Dierks Bentley's "Five" and Brantley Gilbert's "More Than Miles" both fit well with the general theme of this piece.

My phone buzzed loudly against the wood of my desk. It was an unknown number; I couldn't even place the area code. My hand hovered over the glowing screen for a moment, unsure of whether to answer.

"Hello?"

If the number was unfamiliar, the voice was anything but: a husky growl that made my stomach leap instantly into my chest. "Hey, Emma."

"Dean," I said, whispering suddenly, even though I was alone in my office. "It's ... hi. How are you?"

"I'm alright." Pause. "I'm in town, actually. Are you around?"

"... Yeah! Yeah, of course," I said distractedly, thinking about the last time I'd seen Dean. It had to have been over a year ago by now.

"I want to see you," he said. "When are you finished with work? Can we grab a beer?"

"Yeah, okay," I said, my stomach churning. "Leroy's? Can you meet me at eight?"

"Yeah, that works." There was another pause. "I can't wait to see you, Em," he said, sending goosebumps all across my body.


	2. impala

It took me over an hour to get dressed, no matter how many times I told myself I wasn't nervous, that I was just going to meet an old friend for a couple of drinks.

Finally I settled on a soft red Led Zeppelin t-shirt (that I told myself I wasn't wearing because of Dean's taste in music), a pair of extremely tight black jeans (that I told myself I wasn't wearing because they made my ass look fantastic), and open-toed black stilettos instead of my usual steel-toed work boots. For once I wore my hair out, letting it fall in loose waves around my face instead of pulling it back into my trademark French braid.

My roommate, Lauren, whistled as I stepped out of the bathroom. "Look at you, you own makeup!" she said, raising her hands to the ceiling in mock amazement. "And a pair of shoes that you wouldn't be able to move furniture in!"

"I'm gonna be moving a body in them if you don't shut up," I told her.

Lauren gave me a ride to the bar in her little VW Golf, needling me the whole way about the "old friend" I'd gotten all dressed up for.

"Have fun," she said as she dropped me off. "Oh, hey, Emma, I almost forgot. I'll be at Jack's for a few days, so don't wait up for me."

"Why don't you two just move in together?" I said, although I knew I'd miss her half of the rent if she moved out.

"Because, he likes his place and I like ours. We'll figure it out after the wedding," she said. "More importantly, can I trust this Dean guy to get you home in one piece?"

I swallowed a dry nervous lump in my throat. "Sure," I said. "And I can always call a cab. Don't worry. Tell Jack hi from me."

I decided to wait outside the bar for him and immediately regretted it. I tried to stop myself from pacing back and forth, from picking at my fingernails, to no avail. If I were a smoker, I would have been chain-smoking.

Finally I saw his slick black Impala pull into the parking lot and the butterflies in my stomach got so strong I was actually nauseous. My mouth was dry as I watched him slam the door and walk toward me, remembering everything so clearly: the casual gait, the leather jacket resting across his powerful, broad shoulders, the astonishingly green eyes. He gave me that crooked smile as he walked up and I was torn between flinging myself into his arms and running away from him as fast as my heels would allow.

In the end, I did neither.

"Hey girl," he said, giving me an awkward hug and a pat on the back. He smelled _so good_ , a manly smell of worn leather and drugstore soap. Under his old jacket he was wearing nothing but a soft gray t-shirt and I could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric.

Breaking away from him, I laughed nervously. "Hi," I said. "It's been a while."

"Must be a year or some, right?" he said, running his hand over the back of his head.

"Yeah, something like that," I said quietly. "Come on, let's go inside."


	3. pitcher

I walked up to the bar while Dean went to find a table in the back of the room, and Dani, the bartender, came over to me immediately. "Em, I swear if that isn't the handsomest man …!" she said, pulling a pitcher of Miller Lite for us, and I blushed.

"That's Dean," I said, and Dani put the pitcher down quietly, suddenly serious as she looked carefully at me.

" _That's_ Dean?" she asked. "Honey, you better be careful, I don't know how many more Heartbreak Specials I can make for you."

I blushed. "I was not _heartbroken_ ," I argued. "And I can take care of myself." I avoided the _yeah, right_ look I knew was all over her face as I grabbed the pitcher and a couple of red plastic cups from the top of the bar. Dani likes to keep her establishment casual.

"So what are you in town for?" I asked Dean as I slid into the booth. "And did you get a new number? I didn't recognize the one you called me from."

He laughed. "Girl, you know how many phones I go through," he said. "I've probably gotten _four_ new numbers since the last time you saw me. I lost the last one in a sewer in Lansing when Sam and I were going after a shapeshifter."

"You can't hold onto a cell phone, but you keep that car looking like it just rolled off the line," I teased.

He laughed again. "I have my priorities."

"So what are you in town for again?"

"Haunting, we think," he said. "Some old lady out on Burbank Road keeps calling all her utilities complaining about drafts, knocking in the walls, you name it. She's placed at least six calls to the plumber alone talking about noise in the pipes, but she says the company hasn't found anything unusual and they won't keep looking. Could be nothing, could be -"

"Supernatural?" I finished the sentence, and he nodded. "Pretty standard stuff."

To hide my awkwardness, I took a long gulp of my beer. I don't know what I'd expected; of course he was in town working on a case. I guess something inside me had had a shred of hope that maybe he'd come to see me. _Just_ to see me. But then, what were the odds of that? I thought about Dani's warning to be careful, and had to resist the urge to glance over at the bar. I was sure she was watching me and I didn't want to give her a reason to.

"What are you thinking about, Em?" he asked me quietly, pulling my attention back to his face, his strong hands resting on the table, the way his eyes shone darkly in the low light.

I smiled brightly. "I was just thinking about what you taught me about shapeshifters, actually," I lied. "Do they really shed? That's so gross."

"You have no idea," he said. "And they love to hang out in the most disgusting places. But I'm prepared to get a little dirty every now and then."

"Better sewage than blood," I said softly.

He studied my face for a moment.

"Emma, are you worried about me?"

"No," I said.

Dean raised his eyebrows at me. I looked down at the beer in my hands, examining the foam sticking to the inside of the plastic cup.

"I mean, not really," I sighed. "I know you're a professional, but after everything that we went through, after everything you told me about your life … I just, every once in a while I find myself wondering if you're okay."

"How often is every once in a while?" he asked quietly.

"Oh come on, you can't ask me that," I said. "That's not fair."

He gave me the crooked smile again as though he knew it was killing me. "What's not fair?"

"You asking me stuff like that when I'm just trying to keep all my cards in my hand right now, Dean," I said. "I haven't seen you or talked to you in a year; let me just get used to the idea that you're here in front of me - and, you know, alive - before we start talking about feelings and crap."

"Who said anything about talking about feelings?" he teased, grinning. "We're just two friends out for a drink, right?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "You're the worst," I said, finishing my beer.

Suddenly the tension was broken and we were both laughing.

By the time I went up for the second pitcher, Dani's eyebrows were raised so high at me that they almost disappeared into her hair. "I'm not even going to say anything," she said, pulling on the tap. We both watched the beer foam into the plastic jug for a moment. "I'm not even sure I should give you this, it seems to be impairing your judgement."

"I thought you said you weren't going to say anything," I said, and disappeared with the pitcher before she could say anything else.


	4. floor

We polished off a second and then a third pitcher while we watched karaoke. We were laughing together over some drunk guy's nearly incoherent rendition of "Man, I Feel Like a Woman" when the opening notes of "Wagon Wheel" came over the speakers.

"Get up," Dean said suddenly, banging his cup on the table.

"What?!" I asked, looking up at him.

"Don't you know we have to dance to this song? Come on," he said.

I took his hand and he pulled me close to him, hitting me with another wave of his leather-and-soap scent. With his warm hand on the small of my back, I followed his lead, keeping up fairly well despite the combination of high heels and beer.

The whole bar sang along enthusiastically as Dean led us around the dance floor.

_I gotta get a move on before the sun_

_I hear my baby callin' my name -_

"- and I know that she's the only one," Dean sang quietly, his eyes soft in the low light.

I held my breath for a long moment, looking into his green eyes.

"Come on, let's sit down," he said finally.

As we sat down I caught a glimpse of Dani's eyes on me over the heads of all the patrons now belting out the chorus. I tried to make my face say "I'm fine, quit worrying", but she turned away to attend to a customer.

"This is nice," said Dean eventually. "I never just get a night off like this."

"A night off?" I asked him, surprised. "Aren't you working a case?"

There was a pause. Finally he said, "I gotta be honest, Em. The case is all the way out in Youngstown. Sammy's up there working on it by himself."

"Why're you here if he's there?"

"I don't know," he said, smirking a tiny bit. "I think there was a girl I really wanted to see."

"Oh yeah?" I said, fighting to keep my voice level.

He leaned forward, suddenly serious. "Emma, I think about you all the time."

"You never called," I said softly.

"Not because I didn't want to," he said. "I must have started to call you a dozen times and never pressed 'send.'"

"Why didn't you?" I asked.

"I didn't … You have a good life here, Emma. A tidy, _normal_ life. A hunter-free life. I couldn't bring myself to disrupt it, no matter how badly I wanted to. For all I knew, you could have started seeing someone since I left."

"I haven't been seeing anyone _because_ you left," I confessed. "A little late to worry about 'disrupting my life,' don't you think?"

He lowered his head.

"And you're here now," I pointed out. "You called me today. What changed?"

"I was so close to you," he said, his voice husky as he looked at me. "Knowing you were right here … I couldn't make myself stay away."

I leaned over the table. "God damn it, Dean, what do you want from me?"

"Want ...?" he asked. "What do you mean, what do I want?"

"I mean, what do _you. Want._ " I said, enunciating the last two words carefully. "You tell me all about all the stuff you do - all the ... things ... that are out there, and then you just leave. You say you don't want to disrupt my life and then you call me out of the blue. You dance with me tonight, you ... made love to me ... last year, you tell me you _couldn't make yourself stay away_ , but at the same time we both know you're going to leave - maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow, but you'll be gone, because that's how your life works. So, what are you doing here? What do you want?"

He looked down at his hands. "I ... don't know." he said. He looked up and his eyes were blazing. "I _want_ to get down on one knee right here in this bar. I _want_ to quit the life, quit killing things, and find a place and a normal job, and live with you, and have a couple of kids and a 401k. But that won't happen, because that's never been how my life goes. That has never been what the end looks like for me."

"I know," I said quietly. "I know that. But god damn it, you can't just ... Dean, I didn't even know if you were alive."

"I ... wanted you to forget about me. You should have just forgotten about me." He moved as if to get up. "I shouldn't have come. This was a bad idea, Emma, I'm sorry."

"Don't. Dean, don't walk out of here. Look at me." He looked into my eyes. "You're wrong about two things," I told him. "I _don't_ have a normal life. Not any more. I keep holy water under my pillow ... I buy salt in bulk. I made a hex bag the way you taught me ..."

"I shouldn't have told you all that stuff," he said.

"Why not?" I said, bristling. "So I wouldn't know how to protect myself against stuff I didn't even know existed?"

"What's the other thing I was wrong about?" he asked me quietly.

I looked at him for a long moment without saying anything. Just looking. The green eyes, the tiny bit of scruff on his face.

"My life isn't hunter-free, Dean Winchester," I said softly. "It hasn't been hunter-free since the moment you and Sam showed up at my door pretending to be fucking FBI agents. You're the hunter, and since I fell for you my life has been the _opposite_ of hunter-free."

"You fell for me?" he whispered.

I laughed out loud.

"Are you serious?" I asked him. "How obtuse can you be? _Yes_ , I fell for you, Dean. I fell for you the moment you first held me in your arms."

Suddenly I grabbed the pitcher and drained the last of it, banging the empty plastic jug on the table.

"Take me home," I said. "Come home with me."

He stared.

"Emma, you have _no idea_ how much I want to, believe me," he said. "But ... is that ... really a good idea?"

"It wasn't a good idea to even meet you here, Dean," I said, getting up from the booth. "Come on."

Dean followed me up to the bar and I saw Dani looking him up and down, seeming awfully critical of someone she'd recently described as "the handsomest man." "Are you okay to drive, sir?" she said sternly.

Dean hit her with that huge, incredibly charming smile of his. "Of course I am," he said. She almost smiled back.

As I counted out change onto the bar, though, she grabbed my wrist. "For Pete's sake, be careful, Em," she whispered to me. There was a pause, then I nodded and turned away from her, leaving the bar without looking her in the eye again.


	5. beretta

He was kissing me before we even got to the door of my apartment. He stopped me in the middle of the hallway, pulling me toward him and kissing me deeply, _hungrily_ ; Dani's warning rang in my ears but was quickly drowned out by the sound of my own blood pounding through my skull and the sensation of his hands all over my body. I broke away from him just long enough to stuff the key into the lock, missing twice in my eagerness, distracted by his arms wrapped around me from behind and his lips pressed against my neck.

I wanted him _so badly_ but I couldn't help but feel nervous, afraid, wondering what would happen in the morning if I let him do what I wanted him to do.

Actually, I didn't have to wonder. I knew he would leave. He would have to leave. There would always be another case. There would always be more people to save.

As I ran my hands over his powerful shoulders I decided I didn't care, I wanted him too much to let him walk away. I slipped my hand between us, finding the bulge in the front of his pants and squeezing ever so slightly. He was already hard, straining against his jeans, and just as big as I remembered.

"Emma …" he growled in my ear, his body tensing at my touch.

"I guess that's not your Beretta -" I started to tease him, but he hoisted me bodily into the air and I gasped, unable to finish the sentence. I could feel the muscles of his chest and shoulders, defined through his thin t-shirt. I clung to his hard body as he carried me through my apartment, fumbled with the handle on my bedroom door and finally laid me down on my bed, straddling me, grinding against me. I reached up to touch his face but he grabbed my wrists easily in one strong hand and flipped them over my head, pinning me down.

"My Beretta," he said, kissing my mouth and moving slowly down to my clavicle, making me shiver with pleasure, "is in the car."

Each time his lips or his fingers brushed against my skin was another electric jolt to my nervous system. Helpless with my hands above my head, I gasped ever so slightly, moaning softly for more.

"Can we take this off?" he whispered, tugging gently on my t-shirt. I nodded, and he let go of my wrists to pull the shirt off over my head. I reached for the button on his pants again, but he stopped me.

"I want to take care of you first, may I do that?" he whispered huskily in my ear. I nodded again, and he smiled. "Good. Lie back down."

I did as I was told and he began kissing every inch of my skin. His touch was setting me on fire, and I squirmed with delight, gasping out, "Oh, my God, Dean -"

Finally he pulled my jeans off and spread my legs apart. When I felt his tongue hit home I moaned loudly, my body stiffening, and then he slipped his fingers inside me. Pleasure crashed over me in wave after wave and he followed the rocking of my body as he ate me out, thrusting deep inside me with his fingers. My moans were loud and ragged as I got closer and closer to losing control until finally I stopped him, just before my breaking point. I didn't want to cum, not yet. He sat up, wiping his mouth with a grin, and I begged him, "Please fuck me, oh my God, Dean, I need you to fuck me."

He stood up, ripping his t-shirt off over his head, and I had just enough time to admire the chiseled torso, the six-pack, the broad, tanned chest with his anti-possession tattoo moving over the muscles underneath. Then he pulled his jeans off and I was suddenly distracted.

"Oh no," he teased me with one of his crooked grins, "there was something you'd asked me to do but I can't remember what it was."

"Fuck me, _please_ ," I begged him, and he slid slowly inside me, letting out a low gasp.

"You're so tight," he said huskily with his strong hands on my hips, pushing himself deep inside me and starting to thrust, over and over again. I responded, rocking to follow the motion of his body. I could barely handle the waves of pleasure crashing over me; I threw my head back and moaned intensely, gasping his name and digging my nails into his strong shoulders. "Dean, fuck, yes, oh my God yes, fuck," I whimpered as I got closer and closer to cumming, and then suddenly I couldn't control myself any more. My orgasm hit me like a train, my eyes tearing up as I gasped, " _fuck, Dean, I'm cumming, you're making me cum_ ," my nails leaving long marks in his back. A moment later he lost control also, his whole body tensing up as he exploded.

He dropped to the bed next to me, panting hard. "Jesus Christ, Em," he said, rubbing his eyes. "That was even better than last time."

I rolled over to kiss his cheek, resting my hand on his broad chest. "Mm, it was pretty good last time too," I said.


	6. towel

"Alright," Dean said finally. "If I sit here any longer I'm gonna fall asleep, and I want to shower and get dressed."

I looked up at him. "You're not staying?"

"No, no, of course I'm staying," he said. "I just, I always sleep in my clothes. Gotta be, you know, prepared."

I smiled. "Okay, Boy Scout."

"Boy Scout, hunter, same thing. Except one involves making the world a better place and the other is the Boy Scouts."

Dean's phone rang while he was in the shower and I hesitated. I probably shouldn't answer his phone, but this late at night it had to be important.

I checked the screen. ANGUS YOUNG, it said. So it was Sam then.

"Hello?"

"Dean," Sam's breathless voice on the other end. "I - wait, hold on. Emma?"

"Yeah, it's me," I said. "Dean is in the shower, is everything okay?"

"Not really," Sam said. "I mean, I'm safe now, but this is not an everyday kind of a thing. Can you tell Dean to come as soon as he can?"

I wrote down the address he gave me, and hung up. Looking toward the bathroom, I sighed. I should have known not to hope for much, not even the chance to spend the night with him. Of course he would have to go. There would always be another case.

I walked into the bathroom. "Dean?"

"Yeah?" he said, poking his soapy head out of the shower curtain. He grinned at the sight of my naked body. "Want to join me in here?"

"No … actually Sam just called," I said.

Dean was already turning the water off, reaching for a towel before I finished speaking. "What did he say? Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he just needs your help. I got an address, it's about an hour away."

Already halfway out of the bathroom, rubbing the towel over his hair, Dean called over his shoulder. "Get your clothes, come on."

I walked out, watching him pulling his jeans on. "Me?"

"Yes," he said, buckling his belt. "I'm not walking away from you again."

I was frozen, naked and holding the address in my hand.

"Hurry!" Dean said.

"Right, okay," I said, and started pulling clothes out of my drawers and closet. Jeans, my steel-toed boots. A tshirt. A light jacket. What on earth should someone wear to a hunt?

Dean called Sam from the car. "We'll be there in forty minutes, Sam," he said, the phone on speaker on the bench seat between us. "Is everything okay?"

Sam's voice filled the car. "Yeah, we just need to do this at about 2, which is when it'll be darkest tonight. I can't just barge in on my own."

I peeked at the dash clock, which said it was just past midnight.

"Also, 'we'?" Sam said.

"Yeah," said Dean. "Emma is with me. And you're on speaker."

There was a pause.

"Okay," Sam said finally. "See you soon."


	7. shotgun

The shabby motel door swung open to reveal the taller Winchester, a sawed-off shotgun hanging idly in one hand. I appraised the difference the last year had made; the hair was longer, and he'd definitely filled out a bit. "You guys made good time. Good to see you again, Emma," he said, pulling me into a quick, one-armed hug, despite the unmistakable tension in his tone. "If you don't mind, I'd like to talk to my brother for a moment."

"Okay," I said, looking warily at the shotgun. The door clicked shut behind Dean, leaving me stuck outside for at least a minute or two. I pulled up a game on my phone and I was about to wander over to lean on the ice machine when I heard Sam's voice from inside the room, slightly raised and definitely angry.

I hesitated, but I couldn't stop myself from creeping closer to the door.

"I don't care how much you told her, she's got no training, no experience -" he was saying.

"She knows the risks, she knows what it means to be involved with people like us," came Dean's angry growl, and I realized they were talking about me.

"That doesn't mean it was okay to bring her along, god damn it, you're just putting her in danger -"

"It's not like she's a kid, Sam, she knows how to use salt and holy water, she knows how to protect herself -"

I heard a loud bang as Sam slammed his fist onto a piece of furniture, and then I didn't need to try very hard to hear him any more - he was shouting.

"What if she doesn't, huh? What do we do then, if you get distracted tonight because she's in danger _you_ put her in? Fucking hell, Dean, why couldn't you just have left her at home?"

"Because I'm in love with her, okay -"

I barely had time to process this before I heard Sam's furious reply.

"Oh, even better, that's real smart, no, you know what, Dean, why don't you kiss my ass -"

His voice was coming closer, I realized too late. The door to the room opened with a bang and there was a pause as we stared at each other across the threshold; Sam, the shotgun still in his hand, his eyes wild with anger; and me, rooted to the spot, caught listening to their argument and my face going rapidly crimson.

Finally Sam seemed to collect himself. "Well, you may as well come in, Emma," he said, gesturing with the shotgun into the room, where Dean sat hunched on the end of one of the beds.

I looked from one Winchester to the other as I stepped carefully inside. "I take it I'm not exactly a valuable asset to this case," I said.

"You'll be fine, Emma," Dean said, glaring at his brother, who flared his nostrils in frustration but said nothing.

"I'm sorry, Sam," I said quietly. "If I'd known it would be such a big deal I wouldn't have come -"

"You'll be _fine_ , Emma," Dean said again, an edge to his voice.

"I don't have to come along," I murmured. "I could stay here -"

"What, so you can sit here and act as bait for whatever supernatural piece of shit Sam and I are trying to gank tonight? Screw that," Dean said as he stood up and crossed the room to me. "If I gave you a shotgun, would you know what to do?"

"I think so," I said. Sam sighed loudly. "I mean, yes."

"Good," Dean said, his eyes soft as he looked at me. Then he turned to Sam and his voice was hard again. "We'll give her a salt gun and she can watch our backs."

"Fine," Sam said, his tone clipped. "Let's just get this over with."


	8. photograph

"Alright, so what are we looking at here?" Dean said, making it clear there was going to be no further discussion regarding my presence in the motel room.

Sam looked at me with a sigh, but then he opened a file folder and pushed it across the table to Dean. "It is a pretty basic haunting, like we thought," Sam said, "except there's no way I'd ever be able to do this alone. Look at this," he said, indicating an old-fashioned photograph of what looked like a huge family.

"That's the Conners," Sam said. "A little bit of old money. Mom, Dad, eight daughters and four sons. Every single one of them died violently, all on the same night. Every single one of them is now, as far as I can tell, an angry spirit. This place isn't just haunted, it's a full-blown freak parade."

"Jesus," Dean said. "How'd they die?"

Sam looked up darkly. "Seems Daddy couldn't handle his liquor, or at least that's what the article that ran in the paper the next day said. After 16 years sober, he gets sauced, decides he doesn't like the way the wife is looking at him or something, and lines everybody up in the kitchen. He shot every one of them and then himself."

"So the help you need is literally just an extra pair of hands?" Dean said.

Sam nodded. "Fortunately, the whole family is in the same mausoleum - I mean, what else would you do with them - but odds are as soon as we salt & burn one stiff the other spirits aren't going to take it very well."

"Good thing we have Emma here then," said Dean firmly. "Sounds like an all-hands-on-deck situation."

"That would be great if we had another _hunter_ , Dean," Sam snapped. He looked up at me. "No offense."

"None taken," I whispered. Jesus, why was he so hostile? A year ago, Sam and I had been perfectly friendly.

"And why do we need to do this at 2 am?" Dean said, changing the subject.

"That _should_ be when it's darkest out," said Sam. "This is a bit of an ... upscale cemetery. We're going to have to break in. The less the neighborhood can see, the better."

I looked at the photo again, the mother in the middle surrounded by her children. The eldest girl, standing at her right shoulder, was wearing a melancholy expression that I found it hard to tear my eyes away from.

"So you're saying we have over a dozen spirits to deal with, a short window to do it in and all likelihood that we're going to have the cops called on us," Dean was saying. "Wonderful. What could go wrong?"


	9. salt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've bent the events of the canon storyline a bit here. It's not really a spoiler per se, but if you are concerned about the details, you might want to make sure you don't read this until you've at least seen 5.19. Note that we have a reference to the death of a major character.

"Come on, Emma," Dean said to me as Sam pored over his case research. "It's not quite two yet, so we have about half an hour to teach you how to shoot."

My head spun. Had I really been making love to Dean less than three hours ago? Had I been dancing with him less than five hours ago? All traces of the fun and alcohol had worn off, leaving me with nothing but a grim determination to prove Sam wrong. I didn't have to be a liability.

Dean and I drove out to find a spot where our gunshots wouldn't inspire anyone to call the police, and for a while it was silent between us in the car.

"Dean?" I said finally, hesitating.

"Mm?" he said, distractedly, running a hand through his hair as he drove.

"Why is Sam so angry that I'm here? I mean, I can understand the whole putting-me-in-danger thing, but he just seemed so furious."

Dean looked at me and heaved a sigh.

"Sam's ... been through a lot since you met him, Em," he said.

I waited for him to elaborate. Finally he said:

"Somehow, somewhere along the line, in the middle of all this fucked-up-and-crazy, Sam met someone and fell in love."

"Woah," I said. "Who is it?"

"Was," Dean corrected grimly. "An angel. An archangel, actually, _the_ archangel Gabriel."

Dean pulled off, parking the Impala by the side of the road, where a narrow dirt path led off from the pavement and disappeared into the thick trees.

It was very dark except for the beam of Dean's flashlight, and I was grateful that he was ahead of me as we stepped into the woods, carrying a shotgun, looking for a clearing where I could shoot.

"Sam fell in love with an angel?" I asked Dean softly. "A ... male angel?"

Dean looked back at me. "Seriously, that's your takeaway from that?"

"Sorry," I whispered, stepping over a root. "Never mind. What happened to Gabriel?"

"He died," Dean said simply.

"Oh," I said.

"Yeah," Dean said. "He died protecting us, actually, which might be why Sam is so on edge about letting anyone else get within ten miles of the action these days."

I contemplated this as we stepped into a clearing. The moonlight streamed through the gap in the trees, illuminating the area just enough. Dean switched off his flashlight, and in the moments before my eyes adjusted to the light, I could feel Dean standing in the dark next to me. A memory of the way he'd tossed me down on the bed with lust in his eyes made its way unbidden into my brain. Goosebumps rose on my arms.

"You cold?"

I shook my head.

"Okay," Dean whispered. "We don't have a whole lot of time, so we need to focus. It's going to be a lot harder because it's dark, but bear with me."

I nodded, waiting for him to tell me what to do. He pulled a couple of salt rounds from his jacket pocket, holding them out to me so I could see them in the dim light. "Do you know how to load a shotgun?"

I shook my head.

"It's okay, I'll show you," he said, holding out his hand. I handed him the gun.

"Can you see what I'm doing?" he asked me, and I nodded.

"Good," said Dean. "There's already one in the chamber, so I'm gonna load through here."

He showed me the slot in the underside of the gun, sliding a round into the magazine until it clicked into place.

"Now you," he said, handing me back the weapon.

I took one of the rounds from him and, my hands shaking slightly, slid the round into the magazine the way he'd showed me.

"Good," he said, beaming at me. I thought again of how surreal it was that I'd been dancing with him only a few hours ago, and now he was teaching me how to do this.

"Go ahead and do the rest," he told me, handing me the last four shells. I did as I was told, my hands shaking slightly less with each one.

"Is that it?" I asked.

"Well, yes, it's not rocket science," he said. "The important thing is that you know how to do it so that you don't freak out when you're out there with us. Alright, now you need to show me you can shoot."

"I ..." I hesitated. I could feel a blush creeping up my face and I was grateful for the near-darkness.

"Have you ever shot a gun before?"

"No," I admitted finally.

"It's okay," he said patiently. "Just ... how come you said you had?"

"I didn't want Sam to think ..."

"Ah," he said with a nod of understanding. "It's okay. I'll show you. It really isn't hard."

He took the gun from me, demonstrating the stance. "The most important thing to remember is to concentrate. You can be the fastest shooter in the world and it'll still be useless if you can't hit the broad side of a barn."

I nodded. He handed me the gun back and I tried to get into position. After a few small corrections, he said, "Okay, now raise the gun, and set your sights on your target - see that tree over there? Let's use that."

The shotgun was heavy and foreign in my hands. Dean reached over and clicked the safety off.

"It's okay, Emma, you can do it," he said.

I put my finger on the trigger, my hands shaking as I aimed at the tree.

 

 


End file.
